The Book of Lost Fragrances: A Novel of Suspense by M. J. Rose Read Free Book Online Page A

delicate. And with each painting, he risked his life. Because hidden somewhere in every seal’s design was one tiny jagged line: a thunderbolt. His second signature.
    A message to anyone who knew what to look for that he had not been killed; that he was still alive.
    Despite Xie’s efforts, in the midst of his meditative state, images of the burning monk broke his concentration. It was rare for him to lose control like this. Struggling to still the noise of his mind, Xie suppressed his awareness, swirled it into the dense black ink. Usually when he painted, he was free. Not today. Today the burden of the tragic violence was too heavy.
    With so many artists sharing the studio, someone was always coming in or going out, so when the door opened and he heard two sets of footsteps, Xie didn’t glance up. Not yet. Holding on to the last flourish of a curve, he stepped away only when he heard his name spoken and looked up with a feeling of dread. He’d recognized Lui Chung’s voice. While he’d expected this meeting would take place sometime in the next week, he hadn’t anticipated it would transpire tonight.
    “Over a very good dinner, Professor Wu here”—Lui Chung nodded at his companion—“has been telling me wonderful things about your recent work.” He came close, leaned over Xie’s shoulder and looked down at the unfinished painting. “And I can see why.”
    Chung was always eating, chewing and swallowing, making little spitting noises. As usual, the sound of him masticating the candy in his mouth nauseated Xie.
    Surprise visits from the baby-faced and pudgy Beijing official were never welcome, but this one was especially unsettling coming on the heels of the illegal footage Xie had just looked at on the internet. “Thank you,” Xie murmured in a reserved, low voice, keeping his eyes down, being respectful, as he had been taught so long ago.
    “Would you like one?” Chung asked as he held out the bag of confections wrapped in edible paper. “It’s your favorite. Rice candy.”
    Xie took the awful sweet and put it on the taboret behind him. “I’ll save it for later. I don’t like to eat while I’m working.”
    When he was a child at the orphanage outside of Beijing, Xie had many teachers. They taught him math, history, geography, language, natural and social sciences, drawing and violin. But Lui Chung was a special kind of teacher. Starting when Xie was six years old, and continuing for six years, every day for two hours, Chung educated the boy away from the other students in what was called “moral training , ” which included ethics but stressed love of the motherland, the party, and the people. These sessions always began with Chung playing music for ten minutes and ended with the programmer praising Xie and offering him a rice candy as a reward for doing so well.
    At that moment, reaching his hand into the bag, Xie would always feel a flush of fear. Somehow he imagined he was going to lose his fingers; that they were going to break off and Chung would take the bag away before Xie could get them out.
    Om mani padme hum.
    As wise a child as he was, when the sessions started, Xie didn’t know the word for brainwashing. But he understood that Chung was trying to change how he thought, and the sessions scared him. So during the two-hour episodes, Xie learned how to split his consciousness. While he remained aware of the present—enough so that he could hear Chung spouting his propaganda and respond when necessary—he was able to use his mantra as a shield. As he repeated the phrase, a humming started deep inside him that emanated outward, pushing all the intrusions—noises, words, worries—away and keeping his inner core inviolate.
    Om mani padme hum.
    And in the process, he learned how to hold two separate consciousnesses at the same time.
    “Will you have one?” Now Chung offered the bag of candies to Professor Wu.
    “Thank you, yes,” Xie’s mentor said as he reached for a sweet. At